Cassandra
by Bardess of Avon
Summary: Oneshot. Brief glimpses of Cassandra of Troy's life, quite literally from her birth to her death.


* * *

A/N: I can't really say what brought this on, other than extreme procrastination on my part. I am suddenly in a Cassandra mood, and so _voila_, here this is.

If you've seen me before, chances are you know that I love, love, _love_ Cassandra! So of course I had to write something like this. This is basically a glimpse of moments in Cassandra's life, quite literally from her birth to her death. Just about everything I've written here was taken from actual stories about her. You'll also probably notice that I incorporate a fear of horses for her; I attribute this to the Trojan Horse, which plagues Cassandra from the very beginning.

Anyway, here is my ficlet! Enjoy and please tell me what you think!

* * *

"Where is she? Where is my wife?" Priam demands, pushing the doors open and swiftly entering the room. He sees a gaggle of midwives surrounding the bed and he hears the wails of children. The midwives part for him.

"You have twins, my lord; a daughter and a son," the head midwife proclaims triumphantly, smiling as she wipes the sweat from her forehead. The babes rest on either side of Hecuba, their wails subsiding into tired gurgles. Hecuba beams, looking exhausted but pleased.

"My children," Priam greets his infants quietly, holding his son first. "We shall name him Helenus." He sets the child down and scoops up his daughter. Her eyes are still closed. "And you…what shall we call you? Alexandra?"

The infant bats at something on her face only she can feel with her tiny fist.

"No? Cassandra, then."

The infant stills for a moment. Priam smiles and returns her to her mother's breast. The infants seem to fall asleep for a moment. Cassandra opens her eyes and, upon seeing the room surrounding her, shrieks fiercely.

* * *

"Cassandra, Cassandra, look!" Hector exclaims, holding up the lion he carved. Cassandra laughs and claps her tiny hands, reaching for it with miniscule fingers. "Rawr!"

"Rawr!" Cassandra shouts, giggling. "Wion _eat_ you!"

"Lion _eat_ me?" Hector proclaims in mock-terror. He holds up a horse. "What about this, Cassandra? What does the horsie do?"

Cassandra stops laughing, her smile gone completely from her face. She balks for a moment and then begins to wail, fat tears streaking down her rosy cheeks found only on small children.

"What is it? What's wrong, Cassandra?" Hector asks, panicked.

Cassandra makes no reply but to snatch up the horse and hurl it across the room.

* * *

The children are fast asleep, their backs to the wall and their heads resting against each other. Their breaths are deep, almost snores. They are still wearing their festival garb; gold still hangs from their heads. Nothing stirs in the room as two black, water-like serpents slither into the room. The candles flicker, but nothing more. The serpents pause, hiss at one another. They find their tasks ahead of them; they will not put up a fight.

"_Now,"_ one seems to hiss.

The two serpents wind their way silently to the twins. They pause before ascending the children's arms and pausing at their shoulders. The girl sighs in her sleep; the boy gives his head the smallest of shakes. The serpents slowly, carefully insert their heads into the ears of the children. One is almost tangled in the ebony curls of the girl. And then they slither through completely, licking the ears clean.

The boy smiles in his sleep; he dreams happily. The girl frowns, her face darkened by the nightmares she faces.

A woman enters, looking for the children she has lost. She sees them on the far wall. As she comes closer, she espies the serpents in their ears. She screams, a sound that curdles blood. She wants to rush to her children, but perhaps it is not safe. She stands rooted to the spot, shrieking in a frenzy for the serpents to leave her children alone. The serpents finally finish their journey and leave, disappearing into the darkness. The woman grabs up her children, sobbing. They blink, confused as to why they are being awoken by their sobbing mother. A priest enters, asks her what has happened.

"My children," she sobs, stroking their hair. "Two serpents entered their heads! What does it mean, Archeptolemus?"

"It is a sign from the gods, my queen," he replies, looking crazed with delight. "Two serpents have licked their ears clean; they have the gift of prophecy now! Come, we must inform the king!"

"Come Helenus, Cassandra," Hecuba coos, taking her children by the hands.

* * *

"Kill him! Kill him!"

Priam grabs his daughter by the arms, snapping her in place. "What did you say?"

Cassandra stares at him, her lip quivering and her eyes wide with terror.

"Tell me, Cassandra," Priam says louder, more insistently. He shakes her.

"It is a son," Cassandra relents, her eyes staring at something in a world Priam cannot see. Her voice has taken on a dreamy, misty quality. "If he lives, Troy will burn. The city will be engulfed in flames. And you will die!"

Priam releases her so violently that it is almost as if he has pushed her away from him. She does nothing, merely stands, swaying like a tree in a breeze. After a moment, the cloud leaves her eyes and she is left quaking in fear again. "He must be killed."

Priam turns and enters the room. Hecuba beams at him, but he looks away from her. He himself picks up his son and marches out with him.

"Where are you taking him?!" Hecuba calls feebly. "Where are you taking my son?! Alexandros!"

"It must be done, Mother," the girl says soothingly, patting her mother's hand. "Alexandros's birth is a curse, a blight to our family."

Hecuba weeps as Priam takes the child out to the hills and leaves him there. Cassandra takes a deep, shuddering breath of relief.

* * *

Cassandra watches her brothers ride their horses, showing off their tricks. She smiles; they will be great warriors someday. Helenus, one of the youngest in the group, sees her and smiles. He urges his horse closer to her. She takes a step back; Cassandra has always been afraid of horses. Helenus dismounts and approaches her.

"I know you hate horses, sister, but please, ride with me. Andreas will not harm you, nor will I. And look, our other brothers will be there as well."

"No, thank you," Cassandra says quickly, shaking her head.

Helenus grabs her hand before she can get away. "Come, sister! It's not as bad as you imagine, I promise you!"

"I cannot ride!" Cassandra protests, digging her feet in the ground as Helenus begins to pull.

He drags her to the horse. "_All_ Trojans can ride, Cassandra! Look at Hector; they call him the 'Tame of Horses.' You have the same blood as he, do you not?"

"I do, but—"

"Then ride with me!" Helenus laughs, tugging her arm until she is flush against the horse.

Cassandra begins to panic. She tries to push away, but Helenus holds her arm firmly. The other brothers watch and laugh at her futile attempts to get away. Cassandra flails now, fighting as if she is being attacked. "Let me go, let me go!" she demands, her voice rising in pitch.

The brothers near the back still chuckle, but those who have a clearer view become worried. She is frightening Helenus, who is so confused that all he can do is hold her arm. Cassandra begins to cry, clawing at her brother to let her go. "Take me away from the horse, I beg of you! Please!"

The horse, sensing her fear, snorts and stamps its feet. Cassandra turns to it, wide-eyed and frantic. "Traitorous villain!" she shrieks at it. "What enemies do you conceal within you?! It is the Ithacan's machination, this bearer of the destruction of Troy!"

Helenus slaps her across the face. She falls limp in his arms, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The brothers rush her to a bench, calling for a healer. Deiphobus slaps her cheeks while her nursemaid wrings a cloth of cool water onto her forehead. Cassandra awakes with a start, nervous.

"What happened?" they all ask of her. Helenus has long since edged away, terrified of his sister's fit.

She shakes her head, looking embarrassed. "I hate horses."

* * *

Cassandra kneels before the likeness of Apollo in his temple. She prays for all of her brothers and sisters, prays for her parents and for her father's wives and for Troy. She feels as if a strong ray of sunlight is warming her. Before she can turn to look, a bronzed, glowing hand rests on her shoulder.

"Cassandra."

The voice is deep, masculine. It is rich with light. Cassandra feels her shoulder tingle from the touch. The room is lit up in a way that no amount of candles and torches can defeat.

"Apollo," she whispers, turning to face the Sun God. He is handsome; perhaps the handsomest being she has ever laid eyes upon. He beams at her, his smile radiating warmth.

"Sweet Cassandra, rise; I do not like seeing you on the floor."

She obliges, unable to tear her eyes away from the immortal being before her. He raises her hand and kisses it; her hand tingles.  
"I have a gift to offer you, Cassandra, in exchange for…something from you," Apollo says.

"What is this gift, O God of the Sun?" Cassandra asks, amazed that this god would offer her something. "And what do you want from me in return?"

"I can offer you Vision, Cassandra," Apollo says in a lower tone, moving to kiss the inside of her arm. It is going numb from the contact. "I can give you the gift of prophecy. You will never again have to wonder. And all I require is your bed, my love, my flower."

Cassandra rips her arm away. She wishes to remain pure; she has had no other thought in life. She has watched too many sisters disappear on the horizon to husbands and children and households to manage; she will not become one of those. She wanted to become a priestess of Artemis. "I have the gift of Sight," she says coolly, so much so that his shining aura dims the slightest bit. "And I will not open my legs to anyone, be it man or god."

Apollo's face darkens; his rays of light and warmth recede. "Who gave you this gift?"

"Two serpents sent from Olympus; I know not whom," Cassandra answers truthfully.

"I have asked you to surrender your gift. Men would kill to deflower you. Give me that privilege, Cassandra. It is my _right_."

"Your right?" Cassandra asks, scoffing. She sees what he is now; a god who basks too often in his own light and thinks all is his. She used to worship him, used to be proud he was the protector of all Trojans. "Why? Because you are the patron god of Troy? I will not open my legs to you, Apollo, nor any other god for that matter. I will become a virgin priestess in your sister's temple."

Apollo grips her arm. His heat is back in a fury; it scalds her arm. Cassandra writhes, trying to twist away from him. She cries out when she hears her own flesh beginning to burn.

"Do not anger me, Cassandra. I could destroy you," Apollo warns. He is furious; no woman has ever denied him before. He is Phoebus Apollo, master of the sun, and this foolish girl will not have him! It is an outrage. He feels his rage boiling within him. She glares back at him, defiant. At another time, he might understand her indignation and leave her in peace. He might even scorn another god for treating a mortal woman this way. But he is brash and can think only of his anger. He convinces himself that he is not at fault; she is to blame and she alone. And so he tries to take what he wants from her by force.

Cassandra sees his intent and pushes against him. He is a god, however, and it is mere moments before she is sprawled on the ground, Apollo holding her wrists above her head and ripping off her girdle. He lowers his head, his mouth open before he touches her. She takes her opportunity and spits in his mouth. He draws back enough for Cassandra to scoot back, pushing her dress back to her shins. Apollo stares at her curiously before rising slowly. His words are lined with anger.

"I curse you, Cassandra of Troy. You already have the gift of prophecy, which I cannot take away from you. But I can bend it. From now on, Cassandra, your Sight is not a gift but a curse. You will see death and destruction wherever you turn and very little of the good. And no one will believe you. You will forever prophesy the truth, only to be told that you are mad. That is the price of denying a god."

He disappears, taking his light with him.

* * *

Priam builds a pyramidal structure upon a tower for Cassandra when she tries to kill this newcomer, Paris. Soldiers found them in the temple of Zeus during the funeral games; Cassandra attacking the shepherd boy with unmitigated fury and the shepherd boy weakly trying to defend himself. Through her ranting and raving, they discovered that he was Alexandros, taken in by a kindly shepherd when he was abandoned on the hillside.

"He will bring ruin to this city!" Cassandra shrieks wildly as two guards pull her away from Paris, using all of their strength to restrain her own. "Alexandros must not live!"

"She is mad," Priam embarrassedly tells the disheveled Paris. "She sees death and fire everywhere. It is of no consequence; I shall lock her up until this evil passes. In the meantime, you must become reacquainted with your family…"

The structure is built within five days. The wardress is ordered to inform Priam of all of Cassandra's "prophetic utterances." Cassandra truly _does_ go mad in her pyramid; she attacks her visitors and tears her clothes and hair and refuses to eat. She shrieks well into the night, banging on the door and sobbing. Then she sleeps for six days. Her wardress and guards breathe easy once more. When she is finally released, she asks to become a priestess of Athena. The other priestesses skirt around her, whispering about her as priestesses should not. Paris tries to visit her one day, to resolve the conflict he was not aware was extant. She leaves a bloody scratch just above his eye. She is locked up for ten days.

* * *

Cassandra begs Priam not to send Paris to Sparta. She insists that it will lead to the destruction of Troy. "This is your last chance!" she tells him. But Priam will not listen. He cannot listen. And so he orders her away. She is led out by two guards, guards who now feel trepidation around this princess. They are no stranger to her sharp talons; almost every Trojan soldier has felt her fingernails upon them at one time or another. They once thought her beautiful. Some still do. But now they think of her as a madwoman. They pity her. She despises their pity. It only serves to make her angrier. And so she knocks her elbow into one's jaw and kicks the other in the shins. She runs out of the throne room, down the stairs, through the labyrinthine streets of Troy, through the gates, to the docks.

"Do not go! Paris, you cannot go with them!" she wails, her hair wild and loose. Several guards pursue her, but they are too far behind.

Paris looks afraid for a moment. He braces himself for her attack. But none comes. Instead, she throws herself at his feet and throws her arms around his waist, burying her head in his armored stomach. "Don't go!" she wails. "Please! Don't go with them to Sparta!"

Paris is stunned. So are the Trojans he is accompanying. After a moment, he tentatively rests a hand in her hair. She does not flinch, and so he strokes it soothingly. Perhaps this is what things would have been like if he had not been abandoned by his father (why had he done that, anyway? It had never been explained to Paris) and Cassandra had not been frightened by the elusive man in the temple who had scared her to the point of madness. "What's this? Compassion for me at last?"

Cassandra sobs. She pulls back, looking up at him with tearful eyes that remind him of the Aegean. "Compassion? Brother, I can give you the very greatest kind of compassion if you do not go! Do not go to Sparta, please!"

"Why ever not?" he asks, a chuckle in his voice. She is not so bad, really.

"Death awaits you if you go! Please, Paris, stay here, for my sake! I cannot let you go," she pleads.

Paris pulls her up, wiping a tear from her pale cheek with his thumb. Her guards have finally caught up. They look concerned, but he motions that they are not needed. They stand off to the side, watching in amazement as the mad priestess allows the brother she hates to comfort her. There is concern in his expression, one he seems to wear constantly around her. "Why, Cassandra? Why do you not want me to go?"

He sounds swayed. Cassandra takes a deep, shuddering breath. Perhaps he will not go. Perhaps she can save Troy after all. "Because if you go, Troy will fall. I promise you, it will. All of Greece will come to attack us. And you will die. Please, brother, I beg of you, stay here! You would save your countrymen!"

But Paris suddenly looks resolute. She knows she has failed; he has heard her prophetic words and will not—_can _not—believe them. Her heart sinks even before he says, "What? What nonsense. Cassandra, Troy is not going to fall, and Greece is certainly never going to come attack us. We are going to Sparta to form a truce, after all. All will be well, and I shall return to you before you know it. Do not fear, sister; we can make amends upon my return."

Cassandra cries again. Aeneas calls to Paris from the ship, looking at Cassandra with an expression that is a mix of curiosity and pity and perhaps something kinder than sympathy. Cassandra would notice, if she were not crying. But she is crying and she cannot see the present; only the future. Paris moves to embrace her, and she breaks down completely. He motions for the guards to come take her back to the palace.

"Be gentle with her," he orders; he is no stranger to the force they must use against her at times.

Cassandra begins to flail against them as she always does. She cries out for Paris and despairs when he makes no reply, only walks up the gangplank to the ship.

"Beware of Helen!" she shouts, kicking at the air one last time before she allows the guards to return her to the palace. She does not eat that night.

* * *

Paris hopes that Cassandra might welcome him and his new wife with open arms. Her arms are open and clawed. She shrieks piercingly at the sight of the face that launched a thousand ships. She attacks Helen. The guards, having sensed her discomfort the moment she wandered into the chamber, seize her at once, before she can do any real damage. Helen only has a few locks of golden hair out of place and one of her many ropes of necklaces has snapped, but she is overall unharmed. She cries to Paris, however.

"I am sorry," he apologizes, making a fuss over his prize as his sister is pulled away to her tower. "I had thought she was changed. Cassandra went mad, you see. A man forced himself on her in the temple of Apollo one day. She came away undefiled, but it made her go mad. She doesn't mean it, Helen, I know she doesn't."

Helen sniffs and says that she hopes to win Cassandra's friendship before long. Inwardly, she knows this princess will be a thorn to the rose that she is.

* * *

Cassandra is locked up for most of the war. She screams the results of the next day's battle the night before, but no one ever listens. Some days they let her out, but they always make her sleep in her pyramid. Paris fruitlessly tries to win her sisterly affection. Helen glares at her in disdain. After several beatings from the guards, Cassandra becomes quiet. Her silence is more frightening to the Trojans than her screams.

* * *

Coroebus and Othronus swear fealty to Priam out of their love for Cassandra. She is released from her prison to appease the two suitors. They each fight hard during the battles and woo her in moments of peace. She spurns them both at the beginning; she knows they will die. Time wears on. She begins accepting their flowers and their songs and their words of love. She decides that there is no harm in entertaining their innocent notions while they are still alive.

Coroebus loves Cassandra with the conviction of a man struck by one of Eros's arrows. He makes no secret of his competition with Othronus for Cassandra's hand. He is younger than Othronus, and although he is a prince, he is naïve. The princesses find him endearing.

"If Cassandra will not have you, _I_ will!" they tease him, laughing girlishly at his blush. What they do not know is that his blush is because of the thought of Cassandra ever _having_ him.

Cassandra finds him sweet. When she is not plagued by visions, she lets him play the lyre for her and tell tales about Phrygian heroes. Sometimes, she lets him kiss her hand. Sometimes, she kisses him on the cheek. Their actions do not go unnoticed. Othronus threatens to withdraw his sword if Cassandra does not allow him to woo her as ardently as Coroebus. Priam threatens to remove Coroebus if Cassandra will not entertain Othronus. She knows the threat is hollow, that Coroebus is a sword they cannot afford to lose, but she heeds her father anyway. She wins her father's affection, if only briefly.

When Othronus is not with her (and he is with her too frequently for her liking; he and Coroebus are jealous of one another), Cassandra sometimes laces her hand in Coroebus's. Sometimes she buries her head in between his neck and shoulder and breathes in his salty, cool scent. Sometimes she eases his head into her lap and strokes his dark curls, wearing away the pain war brings.

Other times, she presses her lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss. Other times, she lets him rest his head against her breast and fall asleep, peaceful after a laborious battle. Other times, he kisses every inch of her neck and catches her earlobe in his teeth in a way that makes her moan in a way she once thought was dirty. Other times, Cassandra considers abandoning her virgin robes.

* * *

Cassandra wakes the dead one night with her screams. She throws herself against her door, and after consultation with the king, her wardress sends for Hector. Cassandra stills the moment he enters the chamber. She begs him not to go to battle the next day. She tells him it will only aid Troy's destruction. For once, she is not harshly refuted and soldiers are not roughly grabbing her arms and hauling her away. Hector looks as if he believes her. He _does_ believe her.

"Will I die tomorrow, Cassandra?" he asks gently, holding his sister's arms gently.

Cassandra shakes her head, looking away. "No. But soon. You will die before this war is over."

Hector is not surprised. He sighs, pained, and tucks a black curl behind his sister's ear. "I know that…people do not always believe you, beloved sister. But I know that you can see what we cannot. I have always felt my death would come with war. I believe you."

"Then do not go into battle tomorrow," she says quickly, seizing her opportunity.

Hector shakes her head. "I must lead the Apollonians. I'm sorry." He embraces her one more time. "I love you." And then he leaves.

Cassandra breaks a vase that night and not even Coroebus can console her.

* * *

Cassandra climbs the ramparts not long afterwards. For once, the Trojans heed her words. "Come, look down, you men of Troy, you Trojan women! Behold Hector now—if you ever once rejoiced to see him striding home, home alive from battle! He was the greatest joy of Troy and all our people!"

The Trojans flock to the ramparts, weeping over Hector's mangled corpse as his aged father drives the chariot back to his walled city. For once, the women of Troy and Cassandra tear at their clothes and hair as one, shed tears and lament together. For once, Cassandra understands what it's like to be one of them. During the funeral games, people nod at Cassandra and say, "My lady" with respect. If she were not torn by grief for Hector, she would be happy.

* * *

On the last night of the funeral games, Cassandra takes Coroebus into her bed. She does not ask Athena's forgiveness; she knows the goddess will not listen to her. Coroebus makes no objections; he has waited years to make her his wife and he knows that any day could very well be his last.

* * *

The next day, a hollow, wooden horse is brought into Troy. It hits the gates four times before finally entering. Cassandra is quiet and subdued today. She does not even bother to warn her brothers and sisters and mother and father and lover that it is a trap, full of Greeks who mean to cut down every Trojan man in their path and hurl every child off the wall and violate every woman. No one notices her silence; they are too busy rejoicing in their "victory" over the Greeks. Sometimes, if someone deigns to speak with her, she will tell them that the horse will bring a fiery death to Troy. She even smiles grimly to herself when they scorn her; they will know her words to ring true tonight.

* * *

Cassandra cannot help fleeing to the temple and clinging to the Palladium the moment she sees Odysseus wave the torch on the ramparts. In the midst of her last prayer in Troy, she hears the gates swing open, hears the thousands of Greeks run into the city. She hears screams, starting from the lower part of the city and sweeping their way into the upper part, up to the palace. She blanches when she hears Ajax the Lesser barge into the temple. She feels his eyes upon her, feels his lascivious grin. She is no stranger to the insatiable lust stirred up in warriors during battles; she has many brothers.

She screams and fights him, hoping that perhaps she can change at least this in her destiny. But nevertheless, she is ripped away and thrown onto the ground. Her back aches and there is a shooting pain in her head from the contact with the floor. Her wrists are held above her and she is reminded so much of Apollo. This time, however, Cassandra's spit in his mouth does not stop him.

The pain is horrific, far worse than anything her imagination has ever conjured up. She consoles herself with the knowledge that at least he is not the first; that pleasure, at least, has not been given to him. When he is finished, she turns her head away and weeps silently. She is prepared to lay there, blood pooling beneath her hips, until someone comes to collect the spoils and finds her. And then she sees Coroebus, in her mind, running to find her. She ignores the pain all over her and crawls to the marble steps, where Coroebus is running up and shouting her name.

His eyes find her, and in them wells up pure, unadulterated fury when he realizes why the warrior just exiting the temple looks so satisfied. She knows she can do nothing now but watch as her rapist cuts down her lover. When Coroebus falls, gushing blood from his abdomen, Cassandra drapes herself over his body and whispers sweet nothings in his ear as he gasps for life. She wants to ease the pain of his death in whatever way she can.

* * *

She allows herself to be taken to Agamemnon without any resistance; her death awaits her. Agamemnon is kinder than she thought and she thinks that maybe bearing his sons and dying by his side won't be so terrible after all.

* * *

Cassandra thinks that she may not die at Clytemnestra's knife when she labors. It takes hours and hours before she hears first one child scream, then the other. She names them Telademus and Pelops as they suckle for the first time at her breasts and Agamemnon looks on proudly. Not that it matters much; her sons will die soon anyway.

* * *

Cassandra is relieved to be carried in a litter instead of being drawn by horses to the palace at Mycenae. She holds her sons close to her bosom until they reach the palace. In a trance, she declares that she can smell blood and that she sees Thyestes. They all think her mad; these Mycenaeans do not know her as the Trojans once did. Clytemnestra orders the twins to be taken to the nursery. Cassandra kisses them tenderly; she knows that their nurse will give them to Aegisthus to kill. The moment her children are gone, she sees Clytemnestra pull out the ax. Cassandra runs into the palace, ranting and raving and screaming. Perhaps she can escape her death. Perhaps…

She turns a corner and runs into Aegisthus, whose hands are stained with her children's blood. She screams again as he leers at her. And then suddenly, she drops on her knees and falls quiet. He does not stop to wonder why; he swings the ax and dismembers her head.

When Cassandra of Troy dies, there is an expression of peace on her face. At last, her misery is at an end.


End file.
